


Harmonia

by Nanopherius



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanopherius/pseuds/Nanopherius
Summary: Few short paragraphs to express my unrequited, forbidden feelings for him.





	Harmonia

His cheeks inflate and deflate and inflate as he stares at the score. I wonder if he is having trouble to read it? Or is he just too focused on the score? Large and rough fingers press onto the valves in different speed and combinations. He shifts his position on the chair slightly. Is he uncomfortable? I want to know more. But. I can't. Can't. Almost instantaneously, I let myself to be overwhelmed, in every possible way, by him.

Growling and rumbling and sustaining. He exhales and the air circulates through the hollow mouthpiece of the shiny tuba of his, round and round and round the air goes, all the way through the gross darkness of a neatly constructed art. From the inviting and captivating gap, the vibration of his breath reaches to the air. It is the colour of cobalt blue. The blue leaps around and dances gracefully. It is a ballet dancer with a tightly frilled tutu, arching and hopping. It reminds me of the suit he had for concerts, the frills that lined themselves up in an orderly manner. Then the blue is a towering and clumsy giant stomping on the ground and then it caresses your face carefully through his enormous finger. My mind clicks and the image of him walking, how he always tips towards a side to raise his leg and how he stumbles a bit and the heavy, heavy footstep of his, comes up. Now the blue is a newborn turtle, struggling to a shelter. He must be out of breath, the coarseness of his sound. The sound of him bumping his arm on the conductor's stand echoes in my mind, and I giggle inside. I can feel him through the blue vibration, even if he is just sitting down, it tells me otherwise. It whisks through my eardrum and talks to me. It is the sound of him, the colour of note, the soul of his tuba.

Bubbling and rattling and ticking. The potential energy in my arm changes to kinetic energy acting on the wooden bar by the wooden-headed stick. The vibration spreads and bounces around through the poles of resonator. It sparks off a colour of flame, a colour of sunset, a colour of fruit. It is the colour of apricot orange. Flicking my arms up and down, the head of the stick jumps and runs around like an attention-seeking kid. He giggles in secret and yells like an idiot. After that, it is a ice skater gliding through the frost and spining round and round and round. She lands with a layback spin with precision and elegance. At the same time, it is one of the many seeds from a dandelion, floating and hovering in the empty space. I experience the very vibration I create and this is the sound of me, the colour of note, the soul of my xylophone.

The concert band fills in every blank space of the air with vibrant and vivid rainbow. We are all acquaintance of each other but we resembles and unites in sound of us, colour of us, the soul of us. My apricot orange and his cobalt blue drives through the air in sync with the rhythm. Our colours harmonize together, creating different shades of orange and blue. Imagine the conductor knitting the sounds we've created with his stick, every swing and signal are the knitting, weaving us into equal squares where the orange and the blue are complimenting each other. The deep, earth-bound, rough tuba of his and the chirpy, clear, jumpy xylophone of mine give birth to a world. A world with soil and flower, bumble bees and butterflies, him and me. Explosion and effervescence, transformation and reproduction. The chemistry of music happens on the very land we stand on. But.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading it. It is extremely short but I still appreciate the effort and the time taken for you to read it.


End file.
